His Front Yard
His house is huge
As is his truck.
His job is steady
As are his paychecks.
His equity is growing
As is his waistline.
His life reeks of success.
A smell he’s coming to loathe.
He’s over housed,
Over booked,
Over taught,
Over read,
Over sold,
And almost dead
To what is really going on
And that which really matters.
It’s not one more dollar in his wallet
Given in angst as the plate passes.
It’s not one more check mailed away
To some foreign country He can't even pronounce
Much less see,
Or touch,
Or really affect.
God was in his front yard this morning
And he asked God why He let people suffer.
God looked at his house,
At his truck,
At his wallet,
At his waistline,
Smiled a sad smile
And walked away.
Pops 2006
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